


Hold Back The River

by AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bounty Hunting, Camping, Feelings, Hunting, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, cowboy gladnis, horse riding, rough and ready sex, the AU nobody wanted or expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 01:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18862615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyoxyethylene/pseuds/AtropaAzraelle
Summary: Gladio wakes up with a stinking hangover the morning after the night before to find himself subject to the hospitality of Sheriff Scientia.Hot meals and a bed to sleep in is one of the better deals he's had lately, and the company isn't so bad either.





	Hold Back The River

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Recipeh_for_Success](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recipeh_for_Success/gifts), [Swordy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/gifts).



> Huge thanks to Sauronix for betaing, and Swordy and Recipeh for Success for the initial enabling. This wouldn't exist, and certainly wouldn't be on AO3 without all of you.

Gladio opened his eyes and immediately regretted his decision. The dim light of the room was too much for his aching head, and every part of his skin hurt with even that tiny movement. A creeping wave of nausea swept up his guts, and his mouth felt as if it were filled with sand. Whatever he was lay on was hard and lumpy; lower quality than even the cheapest hotel bed, and it smelled of old piss and sweat, which didn't help the nausea.

Gladio lifted his head away from the stench, and looked around. The black metal bars of a cell obscured his view of the room beyond.

“Ah shit,” he grumbled. Sitting up was more effort than it was probably worth, but it was that or vomit. He raked a hand through his hair, dragging his fingers through tangles, and then scraped flakes of dried drool off his cheek. “How much?” he asked.

“It seems you're no stranger to this situation,” came the reply, in the sort of crisp, clipped pronunciation that suggested someone had an education.

Gladio steadied himself on the edge of the cot with both hands and looked at the room beyond the bars. There was a polished wooden desk standing on the wooden floor, and behind it, a polished looking man in a purple vest and a white shirt that wasn't bothering to look up at him as he spoke: “Now you're conscious, would you care to divulge your name?”

Gladio considered his options. “What if I don't?”

“Then I'll charge you with vagrancy,” came the immediate response. The educated bastard still didn't look up from whatever he was writing.

Gladio's upper lip curled. “Gladio,” he relented.

“Just Gladio?” Now the man looked up. His hair was a sandy brown, and looked like it had been combed at the start of his day and grabbed by the wind since. He didn't look the image of patience.

“Amicitia,” Gladio finally admitted, figuring that giving a false name with someone this uptight would only cause him more trouble in the long run. “Gladio Amicitia.”

There was a pause. Gladio wasn't sure if the man — probably the sheriff; he sounded too educated to be just a deputy — recognised the surname or not. He hoped not. Gladio wasn't ashamed of who he was, but he wasn't proud of what he'd become.

“Well, Mr Amicitia,” the sheriff said again, and Gladio breathed a sigh of relief, “how much do you remember of last night?”

Gladio winced and rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye. His head pounded, and his stomach was still giving warning flips every time he moved. “Not much,” he confessed.

The sheriff gave a nod, as if he'd expected that answer. “I'm not in the habit of arresting every man that strolls into this town and gets into a brawl,” he said. “I don't have enough cells for that, but I had to make an exception for you.”

Gladio squeezed his eyes shut. He vaguely remembered getting into an argument. He'd come into town looking for a bed and a meal, and the saloon owner only watered down his booze by half the usual amount so Gladio had knocked back a few more for the pleasure of it. Then someone had tapped him on the shoulder and socked him in the jaw. “They started it,” he said.

This got a grunt from the sheriff. “Jimmy Gunn started the first fight,” he replied. “You laid him out so hard he's still with the doctor. Then you tried to leave, climbed onto Danny McCleary's horse, were dragged off by two other men, and proceeded to fight them. I'm willing to waive the charge of horse theft on the understanding that you were drunk and mistook it for your own, but I have a harder time dismissing multiple charges of assault and disturbing the peace, especially when one of them is from the doctor. Who was trying to help you,” he added, pointedly.

Gladio buried his face in both of his hands. “I don't remember any of this,” he groaned, but traitorous little flashes were coming back to him anyway. He did remember getting dragged off his horse, which had been pretty jumpy, so maybe it really hadn't been his after all. He also remembered being in the dirt at some point and his face hurting like anything, and he'd swung at the person holding him down.

Gladio dragged his hands down his face and immediately regretted it. The left side of his face felt like it was on fire, and his fingers brushed over a series of little lines and knots that crossed the worst of it. “Shit.” It felt like his face had been sliced up, and then stitched back together.

“Indeed.”

Gladio didn’t remember a knife. He’d had encounters with knives in fights before and they usually meant a fight wasn’t over until someone was dead. If one had been pulled on him then it was little wonder he’d started laying out anyone that came near him. Including the doctor.

Gladio turned to look at the sheriff again to find he'd risen from his desk. His boots tapped on the wooden floor as crisply and precisely as he spoke. He was taller than Gladio expected, and leaner too. The vest clung to a slender waist that tapered down from surprisingly broad shoulders. He stopped just beyond the bars, and Gladio saw the start of a purpling bruise on the man's cheek. “Did I do that?” he asked.

The sheriff gave him a wry smile. “You're not an easy man to take down, Mr Amicitia,” he answered. “You got one or two good hits in.”

Gladio looked the sheriff over again, taking in his long legs and slim figure. He looked like someone Gladio could probably break in two, but here he was claiming that Gladio had not only hit him twice without flooring him, but that he'd been able to subdue him and haul his ass here to a cell, too? This guy was a lot tougher than he looked. “Sorry,” Gladio said, and he meant it.

It seemed to surprise the sheriff, and earned Gladio a nod. “That's a start,” he said, “but I'm afraid sorry won't cut it with the whole town.”

“So how much?” Gladio asked again. He could pay off his bounty and quietly slip away, leaving these good people behind to forget about him. That was an attractive option right now.

“Twenty-five dollars,” the sheriff replied, “but you don't have the means to pay it, so you're going to be here for a while, Mr Amicitia. You might as well get comfortable.”

Twenty-five dollars? How much of that was for thumping the sheriff himself? Gladio shook his head. He had had the money to cover that, but after last night it could have gone anywhere. For all he knew, the good doctor could have rolled him. Or it could have been the men that dragged him off the horse, or anyone in between. Hell, he could have even spent it getting blackout drunk. “Any way I could repay my debt to society faster?” he asked.

The sheriff folded his arms and regarded Gladio critically. “Are you a bounty hunter, Mr Amicitia?”

Gladio looked at him through the bars. “When I have to be,” he answered. Most bounty hunters pissed him off; they were too ready to kill men to steal bounties. It rubbed Gladio the wrong way. But he wasn't above a bit of honest bounty hunting if it was the right criminal, or if he was in a bind.

The sheriff gave a slow, thoughtful nod. Gladio could practically hear cogs whirring away in the man's head. “Once your face has healed we'll see what you can do,” he answered. “Until then, you're my honoured guest. I'll bring you a bowl and a cloth so you can wash up shortly,” he said, and then added, “Breakfast is at nine.”

Gladio's stomach lurched at the mention of breakfast. He didn't know if he'd be able to hold anything down, but food to sop up the alcohol in his system might make him feel better. “The grub any good here?” he asked, offering the sheriff a grin that Gladio hoped was winsome.

“It's hot,” the sheriff answered. “That's the best I'll promise.” The man turned away, retreating behind his desk.

Gladio watched him move. “Hey,” he said, “what's your name?”

The sheriff paused, as if he wasn't sure whether to reprimand Glado for his cheek, or indulge him. “Scientia,” he answered, and then slid gracefully into his seat behind his desk again.

“Just Scientia?” Gladio asked, pushing his luck.

Sheriff Scientia looked up at Gladio. Gladio could feel eyes boring into him. “Ignis Scientia,” the sheriff elaborated, “but you can call me 'sir'.”

***

A bowl of clean water was placed in Gladio's cell, along with a washcloth that had probably been rubbed over more faces and armpits than Gladio cared to think about. He did his best to clean the grime and dried blood off his face, taking care around his stitched up cheek. He longed for a mirror, but he didn't think he'd earned enough trust in his behaviour to ask for something breakable yet.

Breakfast was served at nine, as promised. Sheriff Scientia waved Gladio to back up and slip his arms through the bars so he could be shackled, and then opened the door and brought in a bowl and a cup. The bowl steamed gently, as did the cup, and Gladio could smell coffee on the air.

“Hey,” Gladio said, as he was unshackled again so he could get his breakfast. “My horse,” he began, turning around to find the sheriff looking at him expectantly.

“He's tethered outside,” Scientia answered.

A weight lifted from Gladio's chest. “Guess his board is going on my tab too, huh?” he asked, turning to retrieve the tin bowl. It was filled with steaming porridge, and for a bonus it was nice and thick, instead of the soupy gruel Gladio had been served after other bar fights.

“It might,” Scientia answered, watching Gladio spoon the porridge and let it glop back into the bowl with satisfaction before he took his first bite. “He proved to be less wild than his owner, so I might let him off for good behaviour.”

Gladio turned, spoon sticking out of his mouth as the thick, oaty porridge slowly seared the roof of his mouth. He sucked in some cold air and swallowed it as fast as he dared. “He's not usually good with strangers.”

Scientia retreated to his desk and picked up a mug. “I find a calm, authoritative voice and refusal to back down works as well on horses as it does on men.”

Gladio watched the man take a delicate sip from his mug. He stood ramrod straight, and in profile Gladio could see the small bump at the bridge of his nose, and the mound of his Adam's apple moving in his throat as he swallowed. He sat down on the cot and turned his attention back to his porridge. By the time he'd finished the bowl, wooden spoon scraping the metal as clean as Gladio could get it, his hangover felt a thousand times better.

The coffee wasn't bad either. It was at least hot, if stronger than Gladio normally liked, and he cradled the cup in his hands between mouthfuls. “You feed all your prisoners this well?” he asked. Scientia was savouring his own coffee, taking long sips between reading the papers on his desk. Probably reports about Gladio's antics last night.

“Not all of them.” Scientia didn't even look up. “But I don't consider starvation conducive to rational decision-making.”

“Feed people too well and they might keep coming back,” Gladio pointed out, with a touch of a grin. “I'd pay a good three dollars for that at a saloon.”

Scientia glanced up at him. Their eyes locked for a split second before Scientia looked back down at his desk and muttered, “You wouldn't. Mine's better.”

Gladio laughed. This sheriff was an interesting one. He'd been arrested before, but he usually tried to avoid getting into trouble in towns. The problem tended to be that drunk people looked at a guy Gladio's size and figured he was a challenge. Or if it wasn't drunk people, it was the local thugs and gangs, or other guys with something to prove. These days Gladio preferred life out in the wilds, just himself and Henruit making their way through what was left of the wilderness. He only came into towns when he needed to resupply, or get Henruit reshod, or if he really needed a bath in hot water, instead of a freezing dip in a river or lake.

He'd never been treated this well when he'd been arrested before. It was a nice change, and Scientia might be on to something; being an ass and making the guy's life hard was sure unappealing when he was treating Gladio with courtesy and decent food.

“Yeah, it's the best I've had in a long while,” Gladio told him. He was almost sure he saw the corner of Scientia's mouth turn upwards for a second before he got himself under control again. Gladio settled himself on the cot, leaning against the wall so he could watch Scientia, and folded his legs up along the thin mattress. “So how'd a guy like you end up sheriff here?”

“Do you talk incessantly?” Scientia asked, in that half distracted tone of someone that was trying to work.

Gladio grinned again, even though Scientia didn't look up. “Don't usually have company,” he answered.

Scientia glanced up at him from under his eyebrows, and over the top of the spectacles he was wearing. “What do you mean a guy like me?” he asked, looking back down. He picked up a pen that looked like one of those expensive fountain pens people were taking to lately, and began to add something to the page he was reading.

“You're educated,” Gladio answered, keeping an eye on Scientia. The man wrote with the fine fluidity of someone well used to both the pen, and words. “Can hear it in your voice, but this is a bit of a backwater, and I've not heard of the Scientia family, so you're probably not here through nepotism.”

“Perhaps I've been exiled,” Scientia suggested, still writing in an unhalting hand.

“Nah,” Gladio answered. “You care too much about the job for it to be that.”

That made Scientia's hand pause on the page again, and he looked up at Gladio. “You're in no position to be questioning why I am where I am given my background, Mr. Amicitia.” The pointed stress he placed on Gladio's surname sent ripples down Gladio's spine. “Extend me the courtesy of keeping your nose out,” Scientia added, “and I'll do the same.”

Gladio felt as if he was being nailed to the wall by Scientia's stare. All he could do was give a nod and wait for Scientia to turn his attention back to his work. Once he did, Gladio felt a weight lift from his chest. “Sorry,” he said, and added, “sir,” for good measure.

It seemed to work. Scientia gave a soft shake of his head, as if discarding the comments from his mind. “Where we've been isn't as important as where we're going,” he said. “If you spend today paying for the decisions you made yesterday you buy the chance to make better decisions tomorrow. Right now, that's all you need be concerned with.”

Gladio smiled a little at the sentiment. It was trite, and optimistic, and in Gladio's experience yesterday's decisions kept coming back at you for weeks, and you could spend all of today paying for something only to have some bastard shoot you and take away your tomorrows for good, but the idea that yesterday matters less than tomorrow was a good one to hear from a sheriff. “This town's lucky to have you.”

Scientia looked up at him again, and Gladio saw his mouth curl into a smile that warmed his whole face and made the man look younger. “You might tell them that,” he replied, looking back down at his work.

***

Scientia kept a clean cell. The straw mattress might be thin and stinking, but the floors were swept and looked like they even got scrubbed regularly. There was a tin pot for Gladio to piss in, padlocked to the floor, suggesting that at some point in the past, some ornery prisoner had tried using it or the contents as a weapon. Gladio wanted to ask if he had to shit in that same pot, and how often it got emptied, but he also didn't want to ruin the gentle rapport he'd been developing with Scientia by asking questions that looked like he was planning to be difficult.

Around an hour after breakfast, Scientia got up from his desk and pulled on a black rifleman's coat. Gladio watched him retrieve a brimmed hat from the stand next to the door, and without a word, the man left.

Which left Gladio to stare at the walls, and presumably think on his crimes. He still didn't remember much of last night. His face seemed to remember taking a few hits, the fresh line carved down it aside, and his stomach was tender like he'd been punched in the gut a handful of times, but he didn't remember how many fights he’d got into, or with how many people. He definitely didn't remember laying that bruise on Scientia's cheek, or how Scientia took him down.

With not much else to do, Gladio got off the cot and jogged on the spot for a few seconds. Then he sank to the floor, pressing his hands to the thankfully clean wood, and started counting press ups.

He'd moved onto squats by the time Scientia returned. Gladio's only way to track the passage of time was how many exercises he'd done and the movement of the shadows in the room. His best guess was that the sheriff had been out for a couple of hours. The hat went back on the rack. The jacket followed, leaving Scientia in his white shirt and purple vest again. Gladio was taken again by how slender the man looked. Not thin, just slender, like he was active despite having a desk. Gladio had seen sheriffs that took to the desk; they got portly bellies and soft arms in short order. Scientia couldn't have been old either. He was probably around Gladio's age, if not a bit younger. Life had put a few extra years on Gladio. The sun and the rain had started to weather his skin so that when he looked in a mirror some days he saw his dad looking back at him.

Gladio stopped his squats when he realised Scientia was watching him. He was close enough for Gladio to see the green of his eyes, and he had to push away the thought that they were a pretty colour.

“Don't let me stop you,” Scientia said, as he turned away at last.

Gladio scratched the back of his head. “I'm done,” he said. “Just bored, you know?”

Scientia sank into his chair smoothly but didn't look up. “You're not here to be entertained, Mr Amicitia.”

Gladio debated asking the man to stop calling him that. He had a first name and he preferred that people use it. Mr Amicitia sounded too much like his dad. “I'm just not good at staying in one place for too long,” he answered instead.

Green eyes flicked up to look at him from across the room. “You should have thought of that before you got drunk.”

The tone wasn't admonishing, even though the words could have been. Gladio took a gamble and threw Scientia a grin. “Normally the alcohol's mostly horse piss and water,” he answered.

It worked. Gladio saw the way Scientia's mouth flicked up in a brief smile that was quickly suppressed again. “Not in this town,” he replied. “I tired of hearing complaints about it. Any saloon owner found watering down their wares gets a night opposite you.”

Gladio laughed, sitting himself on the bed again and leaning back against the wall so he could watch Scientia. “Wish all sheriffs did that. Maybe then I'd be able to hold my drink,” he added, offering Scientia an embarrassed smile.

The smile Scientia returned in exchange softened his face. Gladio watched him lean back in his chair, echoing Gladio's positioning against the wall. “So if it wasn't the alcohol that brought you to town, what did?”

Gladio rested the back of his head against the wall. “A hot bath,” he answered. “Figured I might treat myself to a bed and walls for a night.”

“So you are a vagrant,” Scientia replied, although there was a note of humour to his tone that didn't make it sound like an accusation.

Gladio laughed it off. “I can pay my way,” he defended, and then thought of the suspicious lack of money he'd woken up with. “Or I could,” he corrected, thinking of the money he’d had before getting into a brawl. “I just prefer it out there.” He glanced towards the window, and the sunlight streaming through. It would be a fine day for riding today, and he was stuck in here, with a stitched up face and a price tag hanging on his freedom. “Open skies, freedom to go where I want,” he said, “no one expecting me to do that, or be this.” Gladio sighed, turning his attention back to Scientia. “It's easier.”

“Would that we could all live that way,” Scientia murmured, his voice soft.

Gladio looked at him, an educated man stuck in a backwater sheriff's office, doing the job as best he could. It probably wasn't the life Scientia had wanted for himself, and it definitely wasn't the life he'd expected to have. Maybe in that they had some common ground. “It gets lonely sometimes,” Gladio added. “Henruit's a terrible conversationalist.”

“Henruit?” Scientia asked, his head tilting.

“My horse.”

Scientia broke into laughter at that. It was a surprisingly joyous sound, but it was also slightly embarrassed of itself and was cut off before it had truly died away. “I'm sure he's more reasonable than half the people in this town.”

Gladio laughed in return. “You might be right there.”

Lunch was bread and cheese with another helping of coffee. Scientia offered him a refill, pouring the steaming liquid directly into the tin mug Gladio held out between the bars. It was a move that could have got scalding liquid tossed in Scientia’s face by a less co-operative prisoner. Gladio thought he knew that; there was a bond of very tentative trust forming between them and Gladio did his best to nurture it.

The bread was fresh, the crust tearing in Gladio's hands and flaking crumbs everywhere. The cheese was pre-sliced; the tentative trust didn’t stretch as far as handing him a knife. Scientia was testing the boundaries, bit by bit. His coffee was hotter than it had been this morning, and Gladio was handed his food directly through the bars instead of being shackled through them while Scientia brought a plate in.

“Don't you have a deputy?” Gladio asked, when Scientia took his empty plate back.

“The pastor serves when I need one,” Scientia answered, stacking Gladio's plate atop his own and retrieving his coffee. “Which isn't often. This was a fairly quiet town until you rode in.”

“You deputised the pastor?” Gladio asked, unsure whether he should be impressed or horrified. The idea of a religious man enforcing the law was somehow unnerving.

Scientia flashed him a slightly wicked smile that made his green eyes twinkle. “I'll let you in on a secret, Mr Amicitia,” he said. “The trick to controlling a town isn't to wield law, it's to have the women on your side. Every man is someone's son, or someone's husband, and as tough as they all act, there isn't a one of them that wants to see their mother disappointed in them.” The corner of Scientia's mouth ticked up higher, turning his wicked smile into a smirk that trailed fingers down Gladio's spine and made his mouth dry out. “The women are a little more pious than their men, and the pastor being my deputy gives me a direct line to the women of this town, even if I rarely see them myself.”

“You're a devious bastard,” Gladio said.

Scientia's eyes glittered with bright amusement, and a hint of pride. “Thank you.”

That afternoon passed in much the same way as the morning. Scientia left the office a little after lunch, making himself seen around town, or maybe checking up on some of Gladio's victims from last night, leaving Gladio to stare at the ceiling as he lay on the uncomfortable cot. He didn't want to know how many men had sweated, vomited, or pissed on the mattress, and he debated asking the sheriff for his bedroll to lie on instead.

Gladio scratched that idea. Henruit could be testy about being handled by strangers. The fact someone had managed to get him tethered outside the station without Gladio's assistance was impressive enough. Gladio had seen him kick a man clear across the street for trying to rifle through the saddlebags when Gladio was shopping. He really didn't want to know what his bounty would go up to if he set the sheriff up for getting booted in the chest.

The sound of voices disturbed a doze Gladio hadn't been aware of slipping into. One of the voices was Scientia, but Gladio couldn't identify the other.

“Say what you came to say or stop wasting my time,” Scientia said, sounding like his patience had worn thin roughly three sentences ago.

“There's a reward ain't there?” The second speaker sounded gruff, like he smoked and drank too much. Gladio wasn't sure if the guy was a haggard twenty, or a spritely sixty, and he didn't want to sit up to look and draw attention to himself either.

“For information, yes,” Scientia confirmed. “But I need the information first.”

“I just told you I know where he is.”

“Telling me you have the information isn't the same as giving me the information. Now tell me where he is before I start thinking you're an accomplice.” Scientia's tone was calm, and firm, but there was a bite to it that suggested he'd come through on the threat.

There was the shuffle of boots on the floor, and then Scientia's visitor replied, “Colter, up in the West Grizzlies. It's an abandoned mine town,” he added.

There was silence. Gladio listened as hard as he could, straining to hear Scientia's thoughts, or his visitor's. He really wanted to open his eyes and sit up to get a look at the man, but he got the impression the conversation was only happening because this guy thought Scientia was the only one hearing it.

The silence was broken by the careful tap of boots on wood, and the rapid spinning click of a combo lock on a safe being turned back and forth. Gladio expected a metallic squeal as it was opened, but Scientia probably kept the thing oiled because one metallic clunk was followed soon after by another, and a careless spin as the lock was reset.

“Much obliged,” said the visitor. Gladio fancied he could hear the money being stuffed in a pocket. “You sending him after them?”

Gladio risked cracking an eye open. The disdain in the word ‘him’ sounded like Gladio himself had become the subject of conversation. If Scientia had a bounty for him then the end of Gladio’s imprisonment was in sight. Gladio wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“That's none of your concern.”

They weren’t in Gladio’s line of sight. He closed his eye again and concentrated on listening, paying attention to Scientia’s calmly authoritative tone.

“Heard he laid Gunn out good.”

“So far he's been a model prisoner,” Scientia replied, his voice clipped like he was irritated, “which is more than I can say for some others.”

“Yeah? Well the sooner he leaves town the better.”

“I'm sure he agrees with you,” Scientia answered. “I'd rather not have criminal elements darkening my door for too long, and as I'm sure you got your information from some passing stranger in the saloon, do me the kindness of making sure he leaves. And do pass on my greetings to your lady wife.”

The door clicked shut, and Gladio heard Scientia sigh. “You can stop pretending to be asleep.”

“Was I that obvious?” Gladio asked, still with his eyes closed.

Scientia's boots tapped slowly on the wooden floor as he approached the cell, but all the sharp waning patience left his voice when he spoke, “You weren’t snoring.”

Gladio opened his eyes and lifted his head to find Scientia standing by his cell, one elbow resting up against the bars and a warmly amused smile on his face that brought out his handsome youth. “Supper's in half an hour,” Scientia said, his voice softening along with his smile.

“What is it?” Gladio asked, sitting up on the cot and holding Scientia's gaze. The sky outside had darkened, and at some point while Gladio dozed Scientia had lit oil lamps. They lent a pleasant amber glow to the room, and Scientia's skin.

“Just a stew,” Scientia answered, without moving away from the bars. “It can get cold here at night, so it should keep you warm. There's a beer as well,” he added, “if you think you can handle it?”

Gladio raised his eyebrows at the teasing. A hot stew and a beer sounded heavenly, even if they did come with the trappings of a cell and a stinky straw mattress. “Why does anyone pay to stay in a hotel when they can get in a brawl and be treated like this?”

The soft laughter it drew from Scientia was worth it, Gladio thought, and maybe it was the light and the shadows they cast, but Scientia's face seemed more alive than it had earlier. “I like to encourage good behaviour by rewarding it,” he replied. “I don't treat everyone this well.”

“You must get the best behaved prisoners in the country,” Gladio told him.

“You'd be surprised,” Scientia answered, finally moving away from the bars.

Gladio watched the line of Scientia's back through his vest as Scientia walked away and felt a flutter in his gut. He tried not to think about it. “Yeah, probably,” he agreed.

***

Breakfast was served at nine on the dot every day. Gladio did push ups on one hand while he waited. It was the longest he'd lingered in any town, and he hadn't even seen most of the town, but the idea of staying longer didn't hit him with the same itchy feet he usually got. Three hots and a cot was one of the better deals he'd been given, and the company wasn't bad either.

Scientia's polished black boots came into his field of vision, lingering nearby as if he was watching Gladio and didn't want to disturb him. Gladio pretended not to notice, counting another two push ups. When Scientia still didn't move or budge, Gladio swapped back to his other arm, pushing hard so he could swap over without having two hands touching the floor at the same time.

He got another whole push up in before Scientia cleared his throat and declared, “Breakfast.”

Gladio clambered to his feet and stretched his arm across his chest while he made eye contact with Scientia. The bruise at the crest of Scientia’s cheek had bloomed into a vivid purple in the first couple of days, before fading to a green that matched his eyes. Now it was a pale yellow blemish that was retreating quickly into nothing. Scientia looked down at the tin mug of coffee he was holding before offering it through the bars. Gladio finished his stretch and took the cup in both hands, his fingers brushing against Scientia's soft skin as he accepted it. “Thanks.”

With one hand freed, Scientia retrieved his keys from his belt and undid the lock keeping Gladio contained. The barred door swung outward, and Scientia stepped through to hand Gladio his bowl of porridge. The portions had got bigger, Gladio had noticed, and hotter.

In one deft movement, Scientia reached under his arm and brought a book out. “I thought you might find it more entertaining than watching me work,” he said.

Gladio looked at the title. It was one of his old favourites; he'd told Scientia about it a couple of nights ago. He hadn't had a copy of the book to read in years, and he tried to stay away from big cities like Saint Denis where he might be able to find one. “I don't know,” he said, looking at Scientia, “I'm kind of enjoying the conversation.”

Scientia's eyes seemed especially green in the morning light through the window. The man was always precisely turned out; black trousers, white shirt, purple vest. His boots shone with cleaning and care, and the delicate spectacles he wore (not all the time, Gladio had learned; he could get by just fine without them) framed his face perfectly. “When I'm not here, then,” he said, the corner of his mouth creeping up in a smile.

The cell wasn't big, and Scientia wasn't a small man. He was lean, but tall and strong, and still Gladio towered over him. Gladio could feel every inch of proximity between them as they both stood in a cell that was just big enough for Gladio to do press ups in. Gladio swore he could smell the lather from shaving on Scientia’s skin. “Where did you even find it?” Gladio asked, watching Scientia bend to lay the book on his pillow with care.

“I have my ways,” Scientia answered, his mouth curling in a tiny smirk. When he turned back to Gladio he tilted his head. “May I?”

Gladio raised an eyebrow, unsure of what Scientia was asking permission to do, and then two warm fingers touched his cheek. Gladio's breath caught, and his heart gave a lurch in his chest as Scientia turned his head to examine the cut along Gladio's face. Gladio watched Scientia's expression out of the corner of his eye. Those fingers rested lightly on Gladio's cheek.

“It's looking better,” Scientia declared, as Gladio's heart beat a tattoo in his chest. Scientia's fingers fell away, and Gladio turned to look at him again. His throat felt suddenly dry. “I'll ask the doctor to visit this afternoon. We can see if you're ready to repay your debt to society.”

Gladio swallowed and ignored the pounding of his heart, and the way he could still feel the heat of Scientia's fingers on his cheek. “I'm ready to get out of this cell, for sure,” he agreed.

Scientia turned away. The air changed, like a spell breaking, and Gladio breathed again as the sheriff left his cell and relocked the door. “This town too, I expect,” he said, without looking up from his key. The door gave a metallic click.

“Depends,” Gladio answered, curling his fingers around one of the bars and leaning a little closer to Scientia, even though he was on the other side of them. “Am I gonna get run out of it?”

Green eyes locked on Gladio's, and Gladio wished the bars would melt away as a soft, warm smile crept across Scientia's face. “Not by me.”

“Good to know.”

Scientia's smile grew sharper as he turned away. “Get your porridge while it's hot,” he advised, striding across the room, his boots thudding on the wooden floor. “I'll be back this afternoon.” Gladio watched Scientia lift his coat and hat from the stand, heading to the door as he pulled them on. Then the door swung open, and shut behind him, and with the sound of his boots tapping rapidly down three steps, he was gone.

Gladio looked down at the coffee still in his hand and heaved a breath it felt he'd been holding for ten whole minutes. Had he been the only one feeling that, he wondered? Had Scientia's heart been thumping in his ears, or was the electricity between them all in Gladio's head? He lifted the mug of coffee to his lips and took a careful sip of scalding hot liquid, his eyes falling on the book on his pillow.

“Well, shit.”

***

The doc's touch wasn't as gentle as Scientia's. “No sign of infection,” he said, and sounded disappointed by that fact. “You take much too good care of them,” he added, addressing Scientia over his shoulder.

Gladio's hands were shackled uncomfortably behind his back as the doctor examined his face. The yellowing remains of a bruise lingered along the side of the man's jaw; a reminder of the debt Gladio owed, and one the doc seemed intent on recouping in the form of equal bruises dished out with the hard prodding of his fingers.

“I need him fit to take on this bounty,” Scientia answered. “I can't do it alone.”

The doctor huffed, his fingers digging painfully into Gladio's tender cheek again. “Bounty hunters,” he grumbled, disapprovingly. “You're losing your grip if you're relying on them, Ignis.”

Scientia straightened up behind the man, his eyes boring into the back of the doc's head. “I'm using the tools available to me. If I go after Drautos alone, this town will be in need of a new sheriff,” he answered, sharply, “who _will_ rely on bounty hunters.”

The doc's cold fingers stopped digging into Gladio's face. When he stood, Scientia still had a few inches on him. “Well, if this one gets shot, it's no loss,” he said. “Just don't bring him to me for treatment if he does.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Scientia answered, flatly.

The doc gave Gladio one last, poisonous glance before he turned away. “You should send him off on his own, you know,” he said, looking at Scientia.

“And risk him skipping out?” Scientia asked. “I need Drautos dealt with. The only way to be sure of that is to do it myself.”

The doctor gave an annoyed huff and slipped past Scientia, out of the cell. “Have it your way,” he answered, “but I think you're a fool.”

“Your opinion has been noted,” Scientia replied, following the man and leaving the cell door unlocked. “I'll be round later to pick up some tonics,” he added, shepherding the doc to the door.

“You won't get a discount,” the doc warned, “not if they might be used on him.”

“It's your business,” Scientia replied. He opened the door for the doctor; Gladio heard it swinging on its hinges. “Good day.”

The door creaked closed again, and Gladio heard Scientia sigh. His boots tapped on the floor as he came closer again, and a soft, warm hand settled around Gladio's wrist as the cuffs shifted. They gave a click, and fell free, and Gladio wasn't sure if it was his imagination that Scientia's fingers brushed over his freshly bared wrist or not. “Can't imagine why I might have punched him,” Gladio said.

He heard the soft snort of suppressed laughter, but Scientia was less effective at keeping the amusement from his voice as he told Gladio, “I don't condone assault, Mr Amicitia, no matter how poor someone's bedside manner.”

Gladio drew his arms back inside his cell and rubbed at his wrist with one hand. The cuffs hadn't been tight, but the doc hadn't been quick about his examination either. “You locking me back in?” he asked, when Scientia made no move to close the cell back up.

“There's no need,” Scientia answered. Gladio turned to watch Scientia settle into the chair behind his desk and open a drawer. Carefully, half expecting to be shouted at for daring to move, Gladio stepped out of the cell. The office felt a lot bigger without the bars separating him from the rest of it. “Have you heard of Titus Drautos?” Scientia asked, pulling some papers from his drawer and dropping them on top of his desk.

Gladio walked forwards, still cautious. Scientia pulled one sheet off the top of the pile and held it out towards him. Gladio took it, seeing the bounty poster and mugshot printed on it. “No,” he admitted, reading the list of crimes.

“He was the sheriff here before me,” Scientia said, softly. Gladio looked up from the poster to find Scientia staring at the papers on his desk as he spoke. “And as crooked as they come. He took bribes, and allowed the criminal gangs free run of the town in exchange for a cut.”

Gladio grabbed the free chair and pulled it up to Scientia's desk, settling himself into it. “Sounds like a piece of work.”

“To say the least,” Scientia agreed. “It became his undoing, however. The problem with making deals with criminals is that criminals don't tend to keep their word.” Scientia looked up, into Gladio's eyes. “One of the gang leaders he'd been dealing with got caught in Strawberry and immediately sold Drautos out to avoid the noose himself. Drautos fled, and I was installed as sheriff. It took me months to clean the place up. I need to catch him, Mr Amicitia. The town needs to see him swing. Will you help me?”

Gladio handed the bounty poster back to Scientia. “Call me Gladio,” he said.

Scientia's eyes drifted down, and he gave a nod before he looked back up again. “Drautos is an expert sharpshooter,” he added. “I'm,” he hesitated, before settling on, “good, but not as good as I need to be. He was last seen in Colter, along with some of his criminal friends. Do you know it?”

Gladio nodded. “Frigid abandoned mining town,” he confirmed, “pretty small, up in the Grizzlies.”

“You may need something warm to wear,” Scientia added.

“I got warm,” Gladio answered. “Just let me know when you're ready. I'll be with you.”

“Thank you,” Scientia said, looking down at Drautos's picture on the bounty poster.

“Just repaying my debt to society, right?” Gladio asked, flashing Scientia a grin. “I mean the food's great, but the room's a bit small for my liking.”

That got a smile from Scientia, one that lit up his face and made him look younger and warmer. “I have some things to pick up, and I'll have to inform the pastor that I'll be out of town,” he said. “You're free to make your own preparations. I'll meet you back here in an hour.”

“I'll be here,” Gladio promised.

***

Henruit's hoof stamped impatiently on the ground as Gladio approached. The Ardennes shuffled and whinnied as Gladio came into his view. “I know,” Gladio told him, “I'm sorry. Got a little tied up there.”

Henruit gave a chuff and settled, though he still looked eager to be moving. Hitched next to him was a dark bay Turkoman mare that stood as placid as a lake despite Henruit's restlessness. Gladio could feel her eyeballing him nonetheless. “You made a friend?” Gladio asked, reaching out to pat Henruit's neck. Henruit stamped his foot again, until Gladio offered the carrot he'd been holding. The velvety soft flesh of Henruit's muzzle brushed Gladio's palm, deceptively gentle for all his chunnering, and the sound of enthusiastic chewing followed.

“Guess I'm forgiven, huh?” Gladio asked, as Henruit finally stilled and allowed Gladio to check his saddlebags. Someone had clearly been taking care of Henruit during Gladio's incarceration, and Gladio suspected it had been Sheriff Scientia himself. Henruit had a tendency to kick strangers that tried messing with his tack, and a kick from a stubborn goat of a war horse could kill a man, so there weren't many stables that would take him in without Gladio there.

He had winter clothes and camping supplies safely stowed. Gladio was going to need them if they headed up to Colter. The Grizzlies were unforgiving to the unprepared, and storms could whip up there without warning. He tucked away the extra food he'd bought: tinned fruit and salted meat, some bread, and more carrots for Henruit. Gladio usually preferred to hunt his food fresh, but if he was chasing down a bounty, it wasn't worth getting distracted. They didn't want to be seen and then find themselves dead from an ambush in the middle of the night.

Gladio felt eyes on him as he adjusted Henruit's load and checked his tack. Across the road, a small group was forming. Gladio didn't recognise them, but that didn't mean that they didn't recognise him. The big guy that had punched out half the saloon and tried to get on the wrong horse probably stuck in people's minds.

Gladio patted Henruit's neck and looked over his shoulder at the crowd. He could feel their eyes on him, and the air growing tense, waiting for one or the other of them to say something. The sound of something being slung across the back of the Turkoman next to him made Gladio turn in surprise before he could break the silence.

Scientia was clipping a bed roll and camping gear to the Turkoman's saddle. “Ignore the peanut gallery,” he advised, without looking up from what he was doing.

“Do I know them?” Gladio asked, turning his back to Henruit and watching Scientia work from over the Turkoman's saddle.

“No,” Scientia answered, “but they're young men with something to prove. If you engage them, they'll return the favour, and you could do without the increase in your bounty.”

Gladio laughed, throwing the crowd one final glance before he looked away from them for good. “Nice horse,” he said.

“Thank you,” Scientia replied, finishing securing the bed roll and giving the horse's neck a gentle pat. “Her name's Ebony. She was invaluable in keeping Henruit calm until he got used to me.” The look Scientia threw at Gladio showed a trace of amusement.

Gladio grinned broadly in response. “Normally,” he said, “that wouldn't have worked either. He must like you.”

“The way to any animal's heart is through its stomach,” Scientia replied, flashing Gladio a smile that made his mouth go dry.

“I usually prefer to go straight through the chest,” Gladio answered.

“Well, if we're talking hunting,” Scientia said, “I usually prefer a clean shot between the eyes.”

Gladio held Scientia's gaze. The sunlight made the green of his eyes even more vibrant than it had seemed before. “You hunt much?” he asked.

“Not since becoming sheriff,” he admitted. “Do you have everything you need?” Gladio nodded, murmuring his wordless agreement. The feeling of eyes on the back of his neck had returned, but he resisted the urge to look. Scientia unhooked Ebony's reins from the post and slipped them over her neck. “Then let's make tracks,” he said.

Gladio watched Scientia pull himself up into the saddle, one long leg swinging gracefully over the horse's back and finding the stirrup before he eased himself down into the saddle. He tried to keep the words 'lucky saddle' from forming in his head, but they made it in anyway, and Gladio pushed them away despite knowing that the image of Scientia mounting his horse was going to stick with him and return unbidden on lonely nights.

He pulled himself up into Henruit's saddle, knowing it was with less grace than Scientia had shown and hoping he didn't look like the clumsy fool he felt. Henruit, at least, seemed happy to have Gladio back where he belonged, and his head bounced eagerly at the prospect of getting moving.

“What if he shoots you in the middle of the night?” a voice called out, from across the road.

Gladio turned Henruit on the spot and looked at the speaker. The retort that he wasn’t about to do that lay at the tip of his tongue, but Scientia got there first. “Oh, I wouldn’t shoot him,” Scientia replied, “rope’s cheaper than bullets.” Gladio tried his best not to laugh at the sharpness of the response. Ebony set off at a trot, moving between Gladio and the onlookers. Gladio paused to tip his hat to them before he gave Henruit a nudge to follow.

“How do you know I won't try and kill you in the middle of the night?” Gladio asked, as they left the group behind and Henruit drew level with Ebony.

“You wouldn't get the chance,” Scientia answered, flashing Gladio a knowing smile from under the brim of his hat. The look sent a tingle all the way down to Gladio's toes.

He responded with his best winning grin. “The question's more about intent than ability,” he pointed out.

Scientia nodded his head slowly. Gladio saw his smile broadening with genuine amusement. “Then,” he said, “the same way you know I'm not just taking you out into the woods to shoot you.”

“Damn,” Gladio replied. “I knew that was your plan all along.”

Scientia's laugh was bright, and short, and like music to Gladio's ears. They moved past the last building of the town. “Do you think Henruit could do with stretching his legs?” he asked.

Gladio leaned forward and patted Henruit's neck. He was already happier to be moving instead of staying hitched to a post. “Sure,” he answered.

The look in Scientia's eyes was dangerous and sharp, like light glinting off a dagger's blade. “Last one to Barrow Lagoon has to skin supper,” he declared, before giving Ebony a dig with his heels. The mare took off at a canter, and then broke into a gallop.

Gladio stared after them. “Are we going to stand for that?” he asked Henruit. “Come on!” He spurred Henruit on. Ardennes were built for stamina over speed, but Henruit pushed forward, breaking into a gallop and increasing his pace until his every breath snorted. Ebony and Scientia remained ahead of them, Scientia bent low over Ebony's neck, showing the line of his back to Gladio. Trees and scenery whipped past to the thunder of hooves and the heavy breath of horses. They turned down a ravine, rock walls swallowing them, and the wind whipped at Gladio's hair and grabbed at his hat.

Gladio almost forgot they were racing as they galloped alongside the river. The air was fresh and sweet, and after so long cooped up in a cell, being back out here with Henruit felt like coming home. “Good boy,” he said, as Henruit whinnied, “you can do it.” Ahead he could hear Scientia encouraging Ebony before they turned and took a hill. The Turkoman slowed, giving Henruit a chance to gain ground on them.

Then they were over the crest of the hill and whipping through trees. The air gained a bite as they hit the snowline, and a little further on a gentle dusting of snow already lay on the ground. Individual flakes drifted through the air, whipping by in the wind caused by their passing. Scientia pulled ahead again. The vision of him galloping off through the falling snow was pretty as a picture.

The snow got thicker, the trees sparser. Scientia disappeared from view as the path dropped down towards the lagoon. Steam was rising from Henruit's neck; the Ardennes was at the last of his stamina, and Gladio doubted Ebony was faring much better. The cold made it hard to breathe, and Gladio hunched in. “Nearly there,” he told Henruit, “just a bit more.”

Henruit gave a snort, and threw himself into his galloping. Scientia appeared as they dropped down the path, a dark stain on the snow by a frozen lake. He was off his horse, pulling on a coat. “Good job!” Gladio praised Henruit as he slowed to a trot, and then stopped beside Ebony. The mare was steaming, but seemed to have settled after her race, and Gladio gave Henruit a pat before sliding off his back to pull out his own winter clothes.

“What do you think?” Scientia asked, pulling a set of chaps over his fancy pants. His coat looked to be lined with wolf fur, and Gladio wondered if he'd bought it, been given it, or hunted it himself.

“You had the breed advantage,” Gladio told him, patting Henruit's rump as he unfolded his sheepskin coat.

Scientia gave him a crooked smile that showed a laugh in his eyes, but he shook his head. “I meant about pressing on to Colter,” he corrected.

Gladio shrugged his coat on. It was thick, and kept the heat in, and was blessedly comfortable against the frigid air. “Not a good idea,” he said. “It's two hours over that mountain with no cover, and you're straight into Colter. Best to wait until morning, unless you want to be a sitting duck.”

Scientia gave a thoughtful hum. “If we're early enough, we might catch them before they're awake,” he mused. “Camping it is, then.”

Gladio grinned at him. Scientia looked a lot more rough and ready now he was dressed for the weather, instead of trussed up in his fancy vest and coat. The cold had bitten at his cheeks already and turned them pink. The look kinda suited him. “You ever camped in the snow before?” he asked, waiting for Scientia to tell him he'd never camped before at all.

“A couple of times,” he answered.

Gladio wasn't sure he managed to keep the surprise off his face, but he tried. “Might be better if we share a tent,” he suggested. “It's warmer with two people in one, instead of us both freezing in our own.” Scientia looked at him, but his expression was unreadable. “Unless you wouldn't be comfortable sharing with a thug,” Gladio admitted. Out here it was easy to forget Scientia was a Sheriff, and he was some dumb criminal with a bounty to pay back.

“No,” Scientia replied, quickly. Gladio looked back at him, and caught the awkwardly apologetic smile Scientia was wearing as he looked down at the snow. “You're right, it would be better to share.”

Gladio nodded and tried to ignore the way his throat had dried out again. “You okay setting up camp?” he asked.

Scientia looked up at him. The lift of his eyebrow was hidden by the brim of his hat, but Gladio could still feel it hitting him. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Hunt and skin supper,” Gladio answered, flashing Scientia a grin. “I did lose.”

He warned Scientia to keep a rifle close. Wolves got hungry in the snow, and a hungry pack could make dumb decisions to try and fill their bellies. Scientia didn't seem fazed, and Gladio mounted Henruit again to backtrack and find them some venison.

Fresh snow was falling and the sky was growing cloudy when he returned with a doe draped over Henruit's back. The glowing orange of a campfire beckoned Gladio up an incline to a nice spot that let them see anything coming with enough warning to shoot. The snow had been stamped down around the fire, and under and around the tent, giving a little shelter from the wind that shook the canvas. Gladio found Scientia inside, sat on one of the bedrolls, writing in a leatherbound journal, with his rifle lay next to him.

“Nice work,” Gladio said, dropping the doe to the ground on the other side of the fire.

“You too,” Scientia replied, closing his journal. Gladio itched to know what was inside it, but a man's journal contained private thoughts and memories and he would never have asked to pry.

“Not my cleanest kill,” Gladio admitted, “but the meat's still good.” His hands had been growing numb, and the shot had gone through the neck instead of cleanly into the head, but at least she hadn't needed a second shot to take her down.

“Do you hunt a lot?” Scientia asked, as Gladio crouched low to cut open the doe's belly and skin her. The warmth of the fire gave him a little feeling back in his hands, making the job a little easier.

“It's how I get most of my food and money,” Gladio answered. “It's pretty much me and Henruit going wherever the road takes us.”

“You enjoy camping?” Scientia asked.

Gladio looked up at him, awash in firelight. Scientia was sitting cross legged, watching Gladio work. “It's nice to have a real bed sometimes,” Gladio answered, “but yeah,” he turned back to the doe and started slicing her pelt back from her flank. “What about you?”

“I used to camp when I was young,” Scientia answered. “My father used to take me hunting. We'd spend days at a time tracking deer and elk.”

“What about now?” Gladio asked.

“I lost him and my mother to cholera a few years ago,” Scientia told him, his voice quiet.

“Shit, I'm sorry,” Gladio said, looking up again. He felt his chest tightening in sympathy. Scientia wasn't old, and a few years ago sounded like it put him at 'young' but probably old enough to have known what was happening to his parents. Though any age was too young to be orphaned.

Scientia shook his head. “What about your family?” he asked. “Do you have one?”

Gladio looked back down at the doe and rolled her over so he could skin her other side. “Mom, dad, little sister,” he answered. “They're all fine.”

“But you don't see them,” Scientia said, softly. It sounded like an observation, rather than a question.

“I write to my mom and sister,” Gladio confirmed. “I'm just a disappointment to my dad.”

“Why?”

Gladio looked up again. Scientia's face was obscured by the flickering light, but he still looked to be genuinely confused, and curious. “You're the one who arrested me,” Gladio pointed out.

Scientia looked down, and Gladio turned back to his work. The doe was nearly skinned now, and he removed the last of her pelt with a few quick flicks of his knife, and then cast it aside. He'd have a look at it in the light to see if it was worth selling in town. It might get him a few beers, at least.

“Let me,” Scientia said. Gladio looked up again to see him leaving the shelter of the tent. “Your hands must be frozen. Do you not own gloves?”

“Can never find any that fit,” Gladio replied, holding both of his hands up with his fingers splayed to demonstrate their size. Scientia plucked the knife from his finger and thumb, and Gladio moved aside to let him in. Even in the cold open air, Gladio could feel the heat of him close by.

Scientia bent over the carcass and started using Gladio's knife to cleanly slice a good sized portion off her flank. The meat was dark, and marbled with fat. It was just the right time of year for venison; they weren't getting lean and gristly, and she'd had all summer to put on some weight. Gladio leaned over and grabbed a handful of snow to clean the blood off his fingers while Scientia worked, cutting off another good steak. “It's a little warmer in the tent,” he advised. “I can do this.”

Gladio looked at him, hesitating for a moment, and then did as he was told, retreating to the shelter of the tent. He watched Scientia tend to the steaks, flipping them over so they were done evenly on the grill. He looked surprisingly at home bent over a campfire in his thick wolf fur coat. “So I know Drautos was a bastard,” Gladio said, “but how did you end up replacing him?”

Scientia looked over at him for a moment and then turned his attention back to the steaks. The smell of cooking venison was starting to make Gladio's mouth water. “It was a favour,” Scientia answered. “I'd been tutoring a boy when my parents passed. His family took me in,” he explained. Gladio watched him flip the steaks one more time. “You might have heard of them,” he added. “The Caelums? Drautos was an old friend of theirs, they'd been the ones to install him as Sheriff. When he turned out to be corrupt they asked me to step in, in his stead.”

Gladio had heard of the Caelums. Big, rich, political family with designs on Congress. If Scientia knew the Caelums, it explained a lot. “You did recognise my family name, then.”

Scientia stuck Gladio's knife into one of the steaks and lifted it off the grill, moving over to hand it handle first to Gladio. “Of course I did,” he agreed. “But that doesn't explain how you're a disappointment. Getting drunk and fighting is something people do when they've already disappointed their fathers.”

Gladio sighed. The venison steamed, and smelled delicious, making his stomach gurgle. There was plenty more where this came from, too. He took a bite; the meat parted under his teeth like butter, practically melting into juice and flavour. Gladio did his best not to groan. It was the best venison steak he'd ever had cooked on a grill. He lost himself in the pleasure of eating, chewing the meat and savouring it. When he'd swallowed, he explained, “I'm a disappointment because I don't want to marry a nice rich girl my dad picks for me from his friends’ daughters. We argued about it a lot,” he said, “until I left.” He took another bite, letting Scientia's cooking wash away the bitter taste in his mouth that came from talking about his father.

Scientia settled on the bedroll next to him. Their shoulders brushed as he got comfortable and started to eat his own steak. “I'm sorry,” he said, between bites. “I didn't mean to pry. I just think you're a better man than you want to admit to being.”

Gladio swallowed, even though he’d already finished his steak. “There's a lot of stuff I don't admit to being,” he said, quietly.

“I know how you feel,” Scientia replied, his voice barely cracking above a whisper.

Gladio looked at him. The shadows highlighted his fine jaw, and finer cheekbones, and the little bump in Scientia's nose. This close Gladio could see where Scientia's shave that morning hadn't been perfect, dark stubble dusting the back of his jaw, and parts of his neck, adding their own shadows to his face.

Scientia looked at Gladio. His green eyes were paler in the orange light of the fire. Gladio's gaze fell to Scientia's lips, and their soft fullness that looked so inviting. He brought his hand up, taking the brim of Scientia's hat in his fingers and lifted it back off his head, revealing his sandy hair and unwrinkled brow. It would be so easy to lean in and plant his lips against Scientia's.

“Are you a pious man, Mr Amicitia?”

Gladio blinked, and placed Scientia's hat on the floor of the tent. “Call me Gladio,” he said. Scientia continued to look at him, still waiting on the answer to his question, his eyes boring into Gladio. Gladio looked away. “No,” he admitted, “I'm not.”

“I try to be,” Scientia replied, softly. His voice sounded full of a regret that sent a shiver down Gladio's spine.

“How's that working out for you?” Gladio asked, looking down at his boots and resting his arms on his knees. The moment where he could have kissed Scientia had passed, but it still lingered there in the air, as if they could recapture it if they just looked at each other again. Gladio was scared they might.

“It's not,” Scientia answered.

A hand fell to Gladio's arm, the fingers squeezing gently. Gladio looked at the riding glove it wore, and followed it up to Scientia's face, and his pretty green eyes. His throat tightened at the raw, nervous honesty in Scientia's expression. It wasn't just him that felt like he was on the precipice of doing something rash and beautiful that would make it impossible to part ways tomorrow. “Didn't for me, either,” Gladio confessed.

Scientia nodded, thoughtfully, his hand lingering on Gladio's arm until his fingers gave one last squeeze. “We should sleep,” he said, “if we want to catch them unawares.”

“Yeah,” Gladio agreed, partly relieved Scientia was doing the smart thing for them both, but already missing the presence of Scientia's hand as the man shifted to settle down on his bedroll, with his back to Gladio. Gladio looked down at him, and quashed the longing to settle himself in against Scientia's back and hold him close so he could enjoy his heat a little more. Perhaps sharing the tent hadn't been such a great idea.

“Gladio?” Scientia asked. Gladio murmured his response, still watching the man. “Call me Ignis.”

Gladio tried out the sound of the name in his head before he nodded. “All right,” he said, “Ignis.”

***

Gladio awoke, warm but alone, to the sound of Ignis talking to the horses. The fire crackled, and the air was still and filled with the scent of woodsmoke.

“Hold still,” Ignis said, his voice muffled but distinct. Gladio sat up, stretched out aching muscles and stiff joints, and then clambered out of the tent. Ignis was stood between Henruit and Ebony, his hand at both their muzzles as they ate from his palms.

“Traitor,” Gladio said. Henruit continued to eat.

Ignis turned to throw Gladio a bright, amused smile over his shoulder. “Who do you think fed him while you were locked up?” he asked.

“He's still a traitor,” Gladio insisted, moving forwards to grip Henruit's reins and give him a pat. It was early enough that the stars still hung in the sky, although the faint glint of dawn hung at the distant horizon. The snow around lit up the scenery clear as day with reflected moonlight. Henruit's coat shone. “Did he let you brush him?” he asked.

“There aren't many horses that can't be won over with a meal and a curry comb,” Ignis replied, reaching up to pat Henruit's neck.

Gladio shook his head. “You're getting soft,” he told his horse. Henruit shook his head as if in disagreement and snorted, but he let Gladio stroke him. “Ready to go?” he asked, looking to Ignis.

Ignis nodded. “I took the time to cook some more of the venison,” he said. “It's wrapped and in your bag.”

“How long have you been awake?” Gladio asked, his brow furrowing. Ignis had been up and about long enough to groom and feed both horses, and cook some more food.

“I'm an early riser,” Ignis answered, “and it was a clear morning.”

Gladio smiled at him. “I'm impressed at how quietly you must move,” he teased.

“It wasn't difficult around your snoring,” Ignis retorted, an amused lilt offering his voice a musical quality.

“I do not snore.”

“You do,” Ignis asserted. Gladio tried to fix him with a hard, defiant look but he felt it melting off his own face at Ignis's obvious humour. Happy suited the man, and against the backdrop of a snowy mountain and stars fading to dawn around him, he looked stunning. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. “We have a job to do.”

Gladio sighed at the reminder. He didn't want to think too much about how once they got Drautos to the sheriff's station he no longer had an excuse to hang around. His bounty would be paid, and he might get a few extra dollars in his pocket, and then he'd have to leave town and go back to his life of wandering and camping. “I guess so,” he said. “Gonna have to pee first.”

Gladio moved down the hill and found a rock to pee on while Ignis pulled down the tent and rolled up their beds. The deer pelt wasn’t perfect, but Gladio draped it over Henruit’s rump regardless. It would get him a dollar or two back in town. They smothered the fire with the snow, and Gladio pulled his hat on before he climbed back on Henruit. His legs and ass ached from being in the saddle again after too long a break, but it was a good sort of ache, a familiar one, and it distracted him from thinking too much about how he was going to get out of never seeing Ignis again after this.

Maybe he could stop by the town again. He could use the excuse of dropping off a bounty, or just checking if Ignis needed any reprobates picking up. The town might not be welcoming, but Gladio got the impression that Ignis wouldn't object to his company. The desire he'd developed for Ignis might be against nature, but wanting his company, to hear him laugh and talk about books and hunting, that wasn't wrong even by the church's standards.

The mountain trail was thick with fresh fallen snow that covered the track. Gladio took the lead, guiding Henruit through it carefully and letting Ignis and Ebony follow. The last of the stars disappeared from the sky as the sun rose with the morning, painting the sky pale blue and making the snow glitter like diamonds. They travelled in silence, not knowing if Drautos might have lookouts stationed around. Sound could travel far in the mountains, echoing off rock and carrying through the air.

Gladio helped himself to a cold strip of cooked venison as the horses started to descend towards Colter. The view was obscured by rocks, but once they were past them, there was no cover between them and the abandoned town. Gladio pulled Henruit to a halt and gestured for Ignis to stop too. Ignis did, without question, and Gladio slid from his saddle, pulling out his rifle and making his way to the edge of the path so he could peer out and spot any guards.

A pall of smoke rose towards the sky, coming from the chimney of the biggest house. Most of the rest houses were too ramshackle to be of use, with collapsed roofs or broken down walls. Noises from the barn suggested there were horses in there. Gladio crept up, as close as he dared, trying to stay out of the line of sight in case anyone was watching.

“--he gets to sit there, in the _warm_ \--”

“We just gotta wait.”

“I heard his bounty's fifty dollars.”

Two voices, and the way they were talking it didn't sound like there was a third. Gladio tracked his way back to Ignis, who had dismounted and taken up his own rifle. He had a length of rope looped and tucked at his belt, too, ready for taking Drautos in alive. “Two in the barn, don't know how many more in the building,” he said. “Is Drautos the confident type?”

“Supremely,” Ignis replied, “and not without reason.”

“Well his men don't sound loyal,” Gladio muttered. “Might be an in if you wanted to try diplomacy instead of guns?”

“They're not his men, they’re his associates,” Ignis answered, although he looked thoughtful. “It might be worth the attempt,” he conceded, after a moment, “but it may also backfire and alert them to our presence.”

Gladio offered Ignis a small smile. “I'll cover you,” he promised. Ignis's eyes lifted from the snow to Gladio's face.

“If you're having to cover me, who's covering you?”

Gladio lifted one shoulder in an attempt at a careless shrug. “I'll cover me too.”

Ignis shook his head, a frown etched across his lips, and he peered past Gladio towards the town. “You take the barn, I'll head for the house,” he said.

“Yes sir,” Gladio replied. He resisted the urge to try and lighten the mood by saluting with his gun, and instead turned to start heading back for the barn.

“Gladio?”

He stopped when Ignis said his name and looked back at him. It sent a small, guilty thrill down Gladio's spine to see concern writ in the tiny downturn of Ignis's lips, and the imploring look in his eyes.

“Don't die.”

“You too,” Gladio answered.

He followed his own tracks back through the snow, towards the barn. The conversation inside was still going on, but his attention was glued to the dark figure of Ignis making his way as swiftly to the other side of the very small town as he could. His path left a trail in the snow. If anyone was watching they'd know exactly where to look to start shooting. The thought made Gladio's stomach clench.

Ignis disappeared behind the cover of a building, and Gladio breathed to try and quell his racing heart. The prospect of shooting for their lives made his stomach flip and twist. It wouldn’t be the first time the air had been alive with the impending danger, and yet the nervous nausea Gladio felt this time was beyond anything he’d experienced before. He needed to get it under control. His hands needed to be steady when the time came.

“Titus Drautos!” Ignis called, his voice cutting across the town. Gladio heard a _Shit!_ and some scrambling inside the barn. “Surrender now and this need not end in violence,” Ignis yelled, “and anyone who aids in bringing you in will receive their portion of the bounty!”

Gladio smirked despite his jangling nerves and impending sense of dread. Ignis had a nasty streak. Right now, half of the people listening had probably just done some rapid calculations of how many dollars they might be able to walk away with. The inside of the barn had definitely gone suspiciously quiet.

“Surrender yourself now,” Ignis called, into the oppressive silence.

A gunshot cracked the air, coming from inside the house. For a split second Gladio thought someone might have shot Drautos, but more gunshots erupted, tearing the peace of the town to shreds in a hail of bullets. Gladio heard them ricocheting off stone and hoped to hell that Ignis was behind some solid cover.

He half ran to the far end of the barn, making sure to keep himself out of sight. The huge doors swung open and two men emerged, carrying rifles and heading for Ignis's general direction.

Gladio lifted his rifle. No one had seen him yet. He fired off one shot into the furthest man's back, watching him sprawl forwards to the ground. His friend cried out in surprise and fear, and Gladio ducked back behind the barn as he began to turn.

“He's got help!”

A piece of wood flew off the corner of the barn as Gladio ducked away in time to evade the bullet that whizzed through where he'd been stood. He took a breath, readied his rifle, and stuck his head out of cover to fire a shot. There wasn't enough time to aim properly, and he fired without being certain he'd hit.

His target dove sideways to the ground. More people began to spill out of the house. Gladio fell back behind the barn and ran to the other side while reloading, moving around the corner. He managed to catch a man unawares as they tried to flank Ignis's likely position, putting the next bullet through the man's ribs and bringing him down.

Gladio turned again, rounding the barn back to his original position. There was one man left in the centre of the town, which meant the others were making their way to Ignis. Gladio's heart lurched, and he fired without taking proper aim again, catching the man with a glancing shot that felled him and left him screaming in agony in the snow.

Gladio readied his next shot as he ran towards the man, more concerned with getting to Ignis. He saw the injured man lift his gun, and then his head exploded in a shower of blood before Gladio could lift his own to respond.

Gladio looked up to where the shot had come from in time to see Ignis, glasses hanging from his mouth, turn away to shoot at another target.

Gladio hurried to the far side of the building Drautos and his crew had been inside. “Have you seen him?” Gladio yelled, as a volley of gunshots split the air and nearly drowned him out.

“No!” Ignis answered. “Check inside!”

Gladio did, kicking the door to the house open and pointing his rifle in first. The room was empty of people, although it looked like their arrival had disturbed breakfast. He walked inside, boots thunking heavily on the wooden floor. More gunfire outside meant Ignis was still fighting someone.

Gladio moved through the room, and heard, just barely over the sound of fighting, a wooden door bang open at the far side of the house. He ran towards it, rifle ready, to find it slowly falling shut, and the image of someone running out into the snow, of towards the centre of town and away from the gunfire.

An ominous, heavier wooden thump came from outside, the sound dulled by the wall at the corner of the house where Ignis had been holed up. It was followed by a couple of gunshots that sounded like a revolver. Gladio looked at the disappearing back of the man, not knowing if he was Drautos or not, and ran out of the door.

Then he turned around the corner and ran towards Ignis. His insides froze when he saw Ignis on the ground, wrestling with a man, trying to keep the barrel of a revolver from pointing at his head as his assailant fought to aim.

Gladio took aim and fired without hesitating. The man on top of Ignis collapsed in a spray of blood, and Ignis threw the body sideways. There was blood on his coat. His glasses were gone. “Did you find him?” he asked, sitting himself up out of the snow, which clung to his collar and his hair.

“Think so,” Gladio answered, offering his hand out to Ignis. “He took off running.”

Ignis took it. His gloves were warm in Gladio's cold hands, and he pulled himself up. “Get him,” he said, bending over to catch his breath. He put his hand up to his ear, and Gladio spotted the redness of blood at the tip. One of the bullets had come frighteningly close, and the sight chilled Gladio's blood more than the mere cold could. “I'll be right behind you.”

Gladio nodded, lingering for a moment to look Ignis over and assure himself he wasn't more seriously hurt. Then he turned and headed back to Drautos's tracks. The man was running, but the snow was deep and if Gladio followed the tracks carved by his quarry his going would be easier.

The tracks moved through the town, and headed back around at the far side. Gladio spotted him, a dark figure moving through snow as quickly as he could on foot. It was a stupid and desperate tactic when he and Ignis had come on horseback.

“Drautos!” he called, when he was close enough. “Give it up.”

Drautos stopped, and turned. He looked exhausted. He was still in his prime, but he'd also been living here in the snowy mountains for what had to have been a few weeks, so he wasn't in top condition. “Whatever my bounty is,” he said, “I'll double it.”

Gladio shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, “I ain't interested in money.”

“Then why are you here?”

Gladio continued moving forwards, more slowly and cautiously now Drautos was facing him. There was no sign of a rifle, but that didn't mean Drautos didn't have a gun under his coat. “I made a deal,” he answered, “and I'm a man of my word.”

“What a waste,” Drautos answered.

Gladio saw Drautos's hand moving down to his side and he charged. He didn't know if he could reach Drautos faster than the man could fire, but it was his only real shot at taking him in alive. The world seemed to move in slow motion. The metal of the gun glinted in the sunlight as it came up, drawn from a holster, and then the air split with a shot. The gun went flying from Drautos's hand as Gladio leapt for him.

Drautos and Gladio flew to the ground, cradled by the snow. A fist caught Gladio under the cheek where his skin had barely healed, sending pain tearing through his face. At any other time it would have sent him backwards, and made him let go, but adrenaline coursed through Gladio's veins and he replied with a solid punch to Drautos's nose before he flipped the man back onto his front and gripped his arms.

“Here,” Ignis said, arriving by Gladio's side. He holstered his gun and handed Gladio the rope.

“Nice shooting,” Gladio answered, twisting Drautos's arms up his back and accepting the rope from Ignis. He hogtied Drautos as the man struggled, spitting snow.

“I said I was good,” Ignis replied, with a small smirk that sent Gladio's stomach fluttering. “Are you okay?” he asked, brows gently furrowing and reaching out one gloved hand towards Gladio's face, but stopping short of touching him.

Gladio wished he hadn't stopped, but maybe here and now wasn't the best time. “I've had harder thumps in bar fights,” he answered. The concern on Ignis's face dissolved into a gentle smile.

“How sweet,” Drautos spat, “the sheriff and his bounty hunter.”

“Good morning, Titus,” Ignis replied.

Drautos turned his head, fighting to keep his face out of the snow and trying to get a look at Ignis. “You always were a trumped up little brat.”

“That's enough from you,” Gladio said, as good naturedly as he could manage, because it was that or beat someone who was now effectively in custody. He got the impression Ignis might take a dim view of that. With a heave Gladio picked Drautos up, hauling the man out of the snow and onto his shoulder with some difficulty. Drautos was as heavy as he looked.

“You won't get far,” Drautos spat, his voice dulled due to coming from around Gladio's ass. “They'll ambush you in the mountains.”

“Look,” Gladio said, wading back through the snow with Ignis at his side, “we got all the way here, even camped the night, and you didn't know we were coming. No one's waiting to rescue you.”

“I think you're vastly overestimating your charm,” Ignis agreed, keeping pace by Gladio's side. He moved to adjust his glasses, and then sighed in dismay when they weren’t on his face. “One moment,” he added, “I have to retrieve my things.”

“Sure,” Gladio told him, grinning broadly. He carried on through the snow towards where they'd left the horses. Drautos was heavy on his shoulder, and the man's occasional twisting didn't help. Putting his fingers to his mouth Gladio whistled, and listened for the answering whinny from Henruit.

The Ardennes came trotting through the snow from behind the rocks, followed, he noticed, by Ebony, who trotted right past Gladio and on towards the stable, and her master. “There we go,” Gladio said, hauling Drautos from his shoulder and onto Henruit's back.

“This is your last chance,” Drautos said, as Gladio made sure his weight was secure and balanced.

“The answer's still no,” Gladio replied, giving Henruit a pat.

“Is he still talking?” Ignis asked. Gladio turned to see him leading Ebony through the snow towards them. His glasses were back on his face, and his hat was back on his head. The town's stable doors were wide open too, pinned back to let the horses out in their own time. Taking their chances in the wilderness would be better than slowly starving shut up in a stable.

“Yup,” Gladio answered.

Ignis unfastened the tie he wore. Gladio watched him unknot the purple silk with deft hands, and slip it free of his shirt collar before offering it out to Gladio. “Silence is vastly underappreciated,” he said.

Gladio laughed and took the length of silk from Ignis's fingers. He certainly wasn't going to complain about not having to listen to their captive all the way back. The fact that it might be the last few hours he got to spend with Ignis lurked, sensed but unspoken, on the edge of Gladio's mind. He didn't want Drautos ruining it.

Gladio pressed the silk over Drautos's mouth. Drautos tried gritting his teeth against the material, but Gladio pulled it tight behind his head until it slid between his lips and pinned his tongue down. All Drautos's words became just noise. “Much better,” Gladio agreed.

“Shall we, then?” Ignis asked, softly.

Gladio heard the words behind the question and found he really didn't want to say yes. “Guess so,” he answered, reluctantly, and pulled himself up into Henruit's saddle. Ignis mounted Ebony, and urged her into a gentle walk, heading back the way they'd come. Gladio followed, giving Henruit's reins a shake so that he kept pace.

“That was some sharp shooting,” Gladio said, as they began to climb the mountain.

Ignis looked at him, his eyes meeting Gladio's, before drifting down to his face, and then to Gladio's hands. “You too,” he replied. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

“So did you.”

Ignis looked across at him again, the corner of his mouth moving up in a small smile. “We make a good team,” he said.

Gladio inhaled, the scent of snow in his nose and the frigid mountain air in his lungs. “Yeah,” he agreed, on the exhale.

They kept the pace slow, walking side by side for much of the journey, or trotting gently along the parts of the route that were too narrow for them to do that. Ignis didn't speak, and Gladio found he didn't have the heart to. The only thing he wanted to say was to wish that it wouldn't end, one that he hoped Ignis shared, even though they both knew that was a wish that could never be granted.

Gladio ate cooked venison from his bag as they walked, sharing it with Ignis. It felt as if they were walking because they didn't want to rush to part ways. Their shared glances and smiles became increasingly sad the closer to town they got. It was over, Gladio knew, but all he wanted was a stay of execution.

Night was falling by the time they got back. The sky had darkened, and the town was lit by lamplight. Most of the townsfolk seemed to be in the saloon, or at home. Gladio was thankful for that; he didn't want to part ways with Ignis in full view of the peanut gallery.

They hitched their horses outside the sheriff’s office. Gladio dragged Drautos off Henruit's back and onto his shoulder again. Following Ignis up to the steps to the door felt like he was walking to his own noose, instead of delivering another man to a cell to await his. Ignis hung his coat and hat on the stand by the door as Gladio entered, and then moved across the office to unlock a cell for Drautos.

“In here,” Ignis said. It was the first thing he'd said in hours.

Gladio obliged, ducking into the cell and dropping Drautos heavily onto the cot he'd once slept on himself. He stepped out, and let Ignis lock the cell, ignoring Drautos's muffled protests.

“So,” Gladio began, and stopped because he didn't want to say the only thing that came to mind.

Ignis inhaled, as if he was gathering strength for something. “Would you like a coffee?” he asked, looking up at Gladio.

Gladio blinked, wrongfooted by the question, and then overwhelmed with a sense of relief that he wasn't about to be paid off and sent on his way just yet. “Sure,” he answered, giving Ignis a bright smile.

Ignis nodded, and sidestepped away from the cells before he turned towards the door at the back of the office. “This way.”

Gladio followed him through the door, removing his own hat as he stepped over the threshold from the public space of the sheriff's office to Ignis's private quarters. He took the care to close the door gently behind him, lining up in his head what he was about to say.

Ignis's mouth devoured his. Gladio startled, almost stepping back, but Ignis held firm, his hand gripping the back of Gladio's neck. Ignis's lips moved against Gladio's, hot and insistent, and Gladio felt and heard the rush of air as Ignis inhaled.

Shit, this was real. Gladio dropped his hat. The leather landed on the floor with a soft flop that Gladio didn't hear, too intent on wrapping his arms around the other man and crushing Ignis's body against his own.

Ignis pulled back, his hand tight in Gladio's hair, and looked directly into Gladio's eyes. This was a bad idea, Gladio knew. Ignis knew it too. The way his eyes flicked back and forth, unable to look Gladio in both eyes at once told of a thousand second thoughts going on behind them.

Gladio didn't give him time to have them. He leaned in and planted his mouth against Ignis's, pressing his tongue into Ignis's mouth, hoping he'd find some way to disengage the man's brain while he was there. It seemed to work. Ignis's other hand pulled at Gladio's back, trying to draw them even closer than they already were. Ignis's mouth was hot and wet, his tongue sliding over Gladio's with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to safety.

He pulled back, out of Gladio's grip, his body moving a step away before his mouth did, and Gladio leaned in, trying to keep their kiss going. His heart raced and pounded, and the cold of the mountains was long forgotten in the heat that had washed through Gladio's whole body. When their lips parted again Gladio opened his eyes, finding himself looking into Ignis's once more.

“We can't be heard,” Ignis said, so quietly even Gladio could barely him over the thumping of his own pulse.

“I know,” Gladio answered.

Ignis's hand gripped Gladio's shirt, drawing him forwards. For a moment Gladio thought he was being pulled in to another kiss. His lips graced Ignis's again, and he tried to deepen it, but instead Ignis pulled back, and tugged Gladio after him.

Gladio followed, unable and unwilling to resist as Ignis dragged him up the wooden stairs, their footsteps intolerably loud, and into the bedroom above. Another door closed behind them, and then Ignis set upon Gladio again, his mouth and hands doing their best to take him in. Gladio sank his hands into Ignis's hair as they kissed. He was dimly aware of the soft slap of Ignis's gloves being discarded on the floor, and then hot hands working feverishly at his shirt. Gladio helped, slipping his braces down off his shoulders and untucking his shirt, letting Ignis hurriedly disrobe him. Deft fingers made quick work of Gladio's buttons. Gladio's hands drifted down to the pert muscle of Ignis's ass, drawing Ignis's hips in.

Ignis broke their kiss again, leaving Gladio panting, yearning for more of him, but then Ignis's mouth descended to Gladio's throat and collarbone. Soft lips and rough stubble dragged across Gladio's chest. Ignis's breath fluttered the dark hair across Gladio's pectorals as he shifted downwards. Busy hands made light work of Gladio's pants, dragging them open and peeling them back, exposing his stiff cock to the air.

Gladio looked down as Ignis sank to his knees and looked up at him. The image of Ignis's green eyes fixed on him while his lips hovered so close to the tip of Gladio's cock that Gladio swore he could already feel them seared itself in Gladio's memory. Then Ignis wiped Gladio's mind clean of any thought he'd ever had with the parting of his lips. The soft, wet heat of Ignis's mouth sank down onto Gladio's cock, swallowing and enveloping him in sheer bliss.

Gladio sank both of his hands into Ignis's hair, cradling Ignis's head, and tilted his own head back as he lost himself in the sensation. Ignis moved, his mouth sliding down the length of Gladio's cock. Gladio could feel Ignis's tongue stretching along the underside of his cock as Ignis took him in. His fingers tightened in Ignis's hair, drawing his head that little bit closer, desperate for Ignis to take in just a little more of him. He wanted to feel Ignis on every inch of his cock, wanted to bury himself in the feeling of Ignis's mouth and never leave.

Ignis's fingers dug in to Gladio's ass, but he didn't try and pull back. Instead he let Gladio guide him with his hands, allowed Gladio to move his head back and forth, while meeting the movement with his hips. Gladio thrust shallowly into Ignis's mouth, not wanting to choke him but needing to feel more of him. The pleasure of a building orgasm coiled in his groin. Gladio looked down and watched his cock disappearing into Ignis's mouth, lips stretched over Gladio's flesh, and felt a shiver race up his spine.

Ignis's glasses had fallen askew. Gladio didn't stop to remove them for him, although a part of him wanted to. A part of him also wanted to remember the way Ignis looked, dishevelled and beautiful while having his mouth fucked. Gladio knew he could come like this, and the thought of spilling himself down Ignis's throat and then splaying Ignis on the bed and swallowing him just the same only made the coil of heat in his gut tighten.

The notion of lying Ignis on the bed and having him come apart under Gladio was more attractive even than the sight of Ignis on his knees. Ignis sucked at his cock, taking over when Gladio nearly lost his rhythm, his mouth descending on Gladio. Ignis’s eyes closed as if he was experiencing his own quiet ecstasy. Gladio felt the sparks of climax firing along the nerves.

It would be over too fast if he gave in to it now. Instead Gladio pulled back, drawing his cock free from Ignis's mouth, gasping for breath he hadn't even realised he'd lost. Ignis looked up at him, his lips reddened and glistening. “What's wrong?”

Gladio shook his head, settling his hand at the back of Ignis's neck. “I don't want to be done yet,” he explained, urging Ignis back to his feet and pulling him in to another deep kiss. Gladio explored Ignis's mouth, fancying he could taste his own cock on Ignis's tongue. This time, Gladio set to work at Ignis's buttons, unfastening his vest and his shirt, shoving the dark material aside down Ignis's arms.

Ignis let them drop to the floor, and Gladio explored bare flesh with his hands. Ignis's chest was broad, toned with muscle. Gladio brushed his fingers over a smattering of fine hair that trailed down defined muscles and towards Ignis's pants. Gladio's tongue worked inside Ignis's mouth, and Ignis's hands dug into the muscle of Gladio's back, his fingers clawing into Gladio's shoulder, trying to drag Gladio as close as they could get, and closer still.

Gladio leaned back again, breaking their kiss as he looked down to unfasten Ignis's pants. Light glittered off the hair on Ignis's body, shadows delved into the contours of gently defined muscles and made Gladio want to trace their path with his lips. Gladio pushed Ignis's trousers open and down, revealing a scar on his hip that looked old. He settled his hand over it, and gave Ignis a questioning look.

“Fell out of a tree,” Ignis answered, in a whisper, amusement curling in a smile. “I was five,” he added. Ignis's hand settled over Gladio's left pectoral, and the raised line of a scar he'd all but forgotten about.

“Knife fight,” Gladio answered the unspoken question. “He nearly got me.”

“I'm glad he didn't.”

Gladio looked into Ignis's eyes. The softness in his expression made Gladio's breath catch, but the effect was spoiled by the glasses Ignis had yet to take off that sat unevenly across his nose. Gladio reached up and plucked them from Ignis's face slowly. Ignis watched Gladio lean to drop them on the bedside cabinet, his eyes staying locked on Gladio's. When Gladio straightened up again he pressed down, kissing Ignis gently. Ignis's hands stroked up Gladio's spine, coming to rest at his shoulder. His cock nestled in against Gladio's thigh, hard, and hot, and demanding attention. Gladio ran his hands down Ignis's sides, noticing the sharp shiver Ignis gave as if Gladio had passed over a sensitive spot on his path. He pressed his own cock in to Ignis's hips, and circled his fingers around Ignis's as they kissed.

Their kiss was tender, slow and unhurried and beautifully different to their first. Gladio didn't rush it, stroking Ignis's cock and rubbing his own into Ignis's hip lazily, while his tongue danced with Ignis's in his mouth. Ignis's hands lay splayed across Gladio's back, holding him close, but less desperately than before.

“Is this your first time with a man?” Ignis asked, pulling back just enough to speak. Gladio could still feel Ignis's stubble scratching at his skin as he spoke.

“No,” he answered, honestly. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Ignis's again, chastely, enjoying his heat and his closeness.

“Do you prefer to take,” Ignis asked softly, “or--”

“I've never,” Gladio answered, quickly at first and then slowing, “been taken.”

Ignis's breath was warm against his skin. “Then--” he began, beginning to move back towards the bed.

Gladio shook his head. He knew what Ignis was going to say, but that _or_ took root in Gladio's mind. What would it be like to have Ignis come apart inside him? What would it be like to allow Ignis to feel him inside, to feel Gladio's tightness and heat around him? “Take me,” he said.

Ignis looked up at him. “You're sure?” he asked. “It's not always--”

Pleasurable, Gladio filled in. Painless. He knew. He'd been with others. The idea of seeing Ignis's brow creasing in pain as Gladio entered him made his stomach flip for all the wrong reasons. “I know,” he replied, swinging them both around so he could take a seat on Ignis's bed. “Take me.”

Gladio kept his eyes on Ignis as he sank down onto the bed. Ignis’s hard cock came tantalisingly close to Gladio's face, but he resisted the urge to lean forward and devour him, instead entranced by the view of Ignis standing over him. Ignis was a beautiful display of fine muscle and broad shoulders and pale hair stood before him. He wasn't a small man, and the sight of Ignis standing almost nude before Gladio sent a frisson of excitement along Gladio's skin.

Gladio leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Ignis's stomach, feeling the short hairs that dusted a line down Ignis’s abdomen against his lips. Ignis's hands carded through Gladio's hair, stroking the locks back, away from his face tenderly. Then Ignis's hand settled to Gladio's shoulder and slowly urged him back onto the bed.

Gladio went, leaning back against Ignis's pillow and watching Ignis hastily untie Gladio's boots and yank his trousers off the rest of the way. They were dropped to the floor in an unceremonious heap, and were shortly joined by the remains of Ignis's own clothes. When Ignis finally clambered onto the bed Gladio welcomed him into his arms, kissing him again like he'd been starved of Ignis's touch for far too long. Ignis's tongue delved into his mouth, pressing against Gladio's tongue, his breath gusting along Gladio's cheek as Ignis shifted and settled himself atop Gladio, resting between his legs. Ignis's hand curled around Gladio's cock, stroking and exploring his length, sending ripples of pleasure up Gladio's spine.

When Ignis broke away Gladio found himself watching him from under heavy lidded eyes. Ignis kissed him again, chastely this time, and then sat himself up and retrieved a tube of gun oil from the bed. It looked as if he'd taken it from Gladio's pocket, and Gladio looked at him curiously. Ignis flashed him a small smile. “It helps,” he said, opening the tube and reaching between his own legs to rub the oil along the length of his cock.

Gladio watched Ignis's hand working along his own length, his mouth wetting at the sight. Ignis looked inhumanly arousing doing something as basic as stroking himself. Gladio watched Ignis's cock disappear under his fingers, reappearing again, glistening with oil as Ignis ran his hand back up his own length to the hair nestled at the base of his cock.

Then Ignis leaned forward, positioning himself between Gladio's thighs, bracing himself on one arm. Gladio lifted his knees, spreading himself for Ignis. The intensity of concentration on Ignis's face didn't spoil the tenderness in his eyes, or the flush of arousal on his lips. Gladio rested one of his hands at the back of Ignis's neck, looking directly into the man's eyes as he felt fingers rubbing oil at his ass.

Gladio tugged Ignis in, kissing him again as his fingers pulled away. He felt something hot and firm press against him as Ignis positioned himself. Ignis broke the kiss, fixing his eyes on Gladio's for a second that lasted a lifetime, and then Gladio felt Ignis start to push inside.

It was all right at first. Ignis moved slowly, his cock hot and hard at Gladio's ass, his eyes locked with Gladio's. Then he moved deeper, and Gladio felt himself stretching to the point of pain and he hissed.

Ignis shushed him, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. “It passes,” he soothed, “I promise. If it gets too much tell me.” Gladio gritted his teeth. The pain didn't get worse, but it didn't abate either as Ignis continued to push his way inside. “Just breathe,” Ignis told him, “relax. You're almost there.”

Gladio screwed his eyes shut and tried not to think about the stinging pain. He could feel his cock dragging against Ignis's stomach, and the kisses Ignis was peppering to the side of his face and neck. He tried to focus on them instead.

When Ignis stopped sliding into him Gladio opened his eyes. Ignis was looking at him with such concern it almost made the sharp sting of taking him in worth it. Ignis's fingers stroked his cheek tenderly. “Are you all right?”

Gladio nodded. “Yeah,” he lied. When Ignis wasn't moving the pain was there, present but no longer sharp.

Ignis seemed to know it was a lie. He leaned in and kissed Gladio again, his tongue gracing Gladio's in soft sweeps and touches that threw more fuel on the fire of his arousal. When he moved his hips, drawing back a fraction as he leaned over Gladio, the dull aching pain finally fled. Gladio sighed against Ignis's mouth.

“Better?” Ignis asked as he pulled back again. His pupils were blown, making his eyes dark, and Gladio wondered just how good being inside him felt for Ignis.

“Yeah,” Gladio answered, this time with honesty.

Ignis smiled and leaned in to kiss him again languidly. The first shift of his hips, and his cock inside Gladio wasn't rippling pleasure, but it was pleasant, a sensation added to the list Gladio was finding it harder and harder to keep track of. The feeling of Ignis moving inside him merged with the feel of his lips against Gladio's, and his tongue sliding inside Gladio's mouth, the sound of his breath in Gladio's ear, and the heat of his back under Gladio's hands.

Gladio felt Ignis's stubble scratch at his skin as Ignis bent to kiss Gladio's throat. He could hear the slick sound that accompanied Ignis's thrusts inside him, slow, and measured. He could feel Ignis inside him, a strange and subtle pleasure that was built up by feeling Ignis moving between his legs, his hips thrusting forwards. Gladio was only dimly aware of the creak of the bed frame. Everything outside the room had faded away. Gunfights and towns and the prospect of morning were distant nightmares. There was nothing in the world more worth his attention than being carefully and sweetly fucked by Ignis.

Ignis wrapped his hand around Gladio's cock as he thrust. His palm was soft and hot, his fingers harder and firm. Gladio felt Ignis's hand running up his length, and down again towards the base of his cock. He groaned his approval into Ignis's ear, wordless and quiet, encouraging Ignis to pick up the pace a little.

Ignis thrust a little harder, a little faster. Gladio gripped the hair at the back of Ignis's head, holding his knee up and out of the way with his other hand as their pace picked up. The squeak of the bed and the sound of skin slapping became rhythmic. Gladio pulled his leg back out of the way, giving Ignis room to move. Ignis took it, thrusting inside him, and pleasure tore through Gladio's groin, tightening in his balls. He barely held back the cry that threatened to spill out of him, arching his head back into Ignis's pillow.

Ignis thrust into him again. The same shock of pleasure ripped through Gladio once more. His fingers clawed at Ignis's back. With Ignis's next thrust, his hand still working at the feverish pace of his hips, Gladio gave in and cried out his ecstasy.

He barely finished his first pleasured cry before another was rising up his throat. His whole body felt as if it was on fire, ready to burst with his climax. A hand clamped over his mouth, muffling the noise, and Gladio looked to find Ignis, beads of sweat formed on his brow, his hair sticking to his forehead, his breath panting, looking at him with intense, dark eyes.

Gladio pulled him in closer and tighter, keeping his eyes on Ignis's face as Ignis thrust, his eyes closing as Ignis held on to his own pleasure. Ignis radiated heat, his skin slick with sweat under Gladio’s hands, but he kept thrusting, filling Gladio with dizzying, climactic heat with his every movement, his hand working along Gladio's cock, his other catching Gladio's cries and groans and stifling them.

Gladio's body gave a jerk as orgasm finally washed through him, rippling along his whole body and making muscles tighten and his hips jerk. His seed spilled across his own stomach and Ignis's hand, and then his body slackened with release, his breath ragged and panting.

Ignis removed his hand from Gladio’s mouth, pressing forward to plant a deep kiss there instead, stealing the very last of his breath. Gladio held him close, wrapping himself around Ignis, feeling him thrust hard and fast inside until Ignis too stiffened and trembled. His mouth left Gladio's as his head pulled back, and Gladio watched Ignis come deep inside him, his limbs rigid and his mouth open in a soft cry, before dropping forwards trembling and gasping.

Gladio stroked Ignis's damp hair with his fingers and listened to him regain his breath. He ran his hand soothingly up and down Ignis's back. Ignis was still buried deep inside him, and Gladio didn't really want to part.

Ignis looked at him, dazed and sated. His chest heaved with his exertions, but he smiled and leaned in to plant a gentle kiss to Gladio's lips. Then Gladio felt Ignis move, his body pulling away as Ignis pulled out. It left Gladio feeling bereft and empty, a feeling that was alleviated as he let his legs drop back to the bed and Ignis settled himself on top of Gladio, his weight lying on Gladio's chest and stomach.

Gladio coiled his arms around Ignis, holding him there and delighting in the way Ignis rested his head on Gladio's shoulder. Gladio ached strangely, but pleasantly, and he didn't want to let the realities of the world in to this moment. For now he just wanted to be able to hold Ignis in peace, and pretend there was nothing else.

“Gladio?” Ignis murmured.

Gladio swallowed. Dismay threatened to wash over him. What they'd done was in defiance of God and nature, and even if Ignis wasn't a sheriff and Gladio wasn't who he was, there was no way they could live in peace. “Unless you're going to tell me you're running away with me in the morning,” he said, “don't say anything. I just want to enjoy your company while I can.”

Gladio waited, some tiny part of him hoping that Ignis was going to say just that. Ignis sighed, his arms coiling around Gladio and holding on to him a little tighter.

Gladio stared at the ceiling. Ignis's fingers stroked idly along Gladio's arm, until finally it stilled and Ignis's breathing slowed. Gladio looked down at the man sleeping in his arms and wished for the morning to never come.

***

Gladio awoke in a strange bed, his body aching and soiled. Sun streamed through the window, but Gladio was alone.

On a chair on the other side of the room lay a stack of folded clothes that Gladio recognised as his own. His boots were placed neatly underneath the chair, his hat hung off the backrest. A small square of paper sat on top of the folded clothes. Gladio made himself sit up despite the protests of his muscles. The bed gave a small creak as he moved, groaning warning as he stood to cross the room.

The square of paper was fifty dollars, neatly folded. Gladio swallowed over the lump in his throat and picked up his pants. Half of this was the cost of his freedom. Why hadn’t Ignis taken it when he’d counted out the bills while Gladio slept? 

He dressed without thought, not allowing himself to dwell on how easily Ignis had unfastened his shirt, how eagerly his fingers had worked as his pants. Gladio pulled his boots on as quickly as he could, and tugged his hat into place. He needed a bath, but mostly he needed to get out of this town before despair broke over him. Gladio slipped down the stairs, as quietly as he could, and out through the back door in Ignis's kitchen. There was a pot of coffee on the table, and a pan of what was probably porridge on the stove, gently simmering. All the makings of breakfast waiting for him.

But if he stayed for breakfast, leaving would only be harder after it. Ignis wouldn't leave the nicely set up life he had, and Gladio shouldn't expect him to throw it away for someone he'd known for all of two weeks. Leaving was the only thing he could do that was right for either of them, and it would become impossible if he had to look into Ignis’s green eyes again. If he touched Ignis one more time, kissed him again, held him in his arms, Gladio would never be able to let him go.

He slipped around the side of the building, keeping out of the way of the windows. Henruit was still tethered next to Ebony. “Hey girl,” he murmured to the mare as he unhitched Henruit from the post. “Look after him, okay?”

Ebony strained at her tether and stamped her hooves. Gladio reached out and patted her on the neck before mounting Henruit. The Ardennes was unusually reluctant to turn and leave the town, but after a couple of gentle digs from Gladio’s heels Henruit complied, shifting into a slow trot.

Gladio gave Henruit another careful dig, spurring the horse into a gallop as he left the town's border behind, and along with it Ignis. The fifty dollars lay, intact, on the chair in Ignis’s bedroom. He didn’t want the bounty money, and the idea of taking it would have left a mark on his and Ignis’s brief time together. He only hoped Ignis wouldn’t feel the same pain at Gladio’s departure as was tearing through Gladio’s heart while the town fell away behind him.

***  
_Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes  
Hold back the river so I can stop for a minute and be by your side_


End file.
